Alley Cat
by Mikiya2200
Summary: A "simple" salt-and-burn reveals more about Dean's time in hell than he ever wanted Sam to know.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This story was written as a gift for my best friend Ko-chan. I hope it comes close to what you wanted to read! =)

A very big _THANK YOU_ to my beta-reader **AnickaMarie** (I really can't thank you enough!!) for helping me with this and to the people at the SFTCOL(AR)S-forum (you know who you are) for helping me to get into that (insert curse-words here) head of Dean Winchester.

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize does not belong to me, it belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW, I just borrowed the guys and played with them for a while.

**Timeline:** This story is set in the 4th season, somewhere between "Heaven and Hell" and "Family Remains".

**WARNING:** Do NOT read if the idea of Dean Winchester doing questionable things in hell repells you.  
I mean it.  
Constructive criticism and comments are always welcome and very much appreciated.  
Flames will be send to hell where they belong and used to keep Lucifer's fire going.

**** *** ** *

**ALLEY CAT**

**** *** ** *

The great cat was pacing back and forth nervously, its sharp eyes fixed on the other side of the alley, watching intently as shadows moved in the distance. Whatever had captivated its attention was too far away for the human eye to make out but the white tiger had no trouble following the events, and the longer it watched the more uneasy it became. Sharp, pointed teeth flashed in the moonlight when a low, deep growl rumbled in the creature's chest, turning into a snarl as it hissed suddenly and flattened its ears against his head, taking an involuntary step forward, body poised to dash down the street when something happened only the cat could see.

A soft voice stopped the lean body almost in mid-jump.

"Not yet…"

The tiger obediently took a step back, but the pacing resumed, the tense body telegraphing its displeasure with the situation with every move. Another growl forced its way through clenched jaws and the cat stopped for a moment, turning to look over its shoulder, glaring at something behind his back in silent accusation.

A young man had appeared next to the animal. He was in his mid-twenties and the white linen suit he was wearing stood in stark contrast to the chilling temperature of a late December's night. If he was aware of the cold he didn't seem to mind it, just as the cat's gaze, his complete attention was focused on the other end of the alley. Bi-coloured eyes took in every movement of the indistinct shapes and, like the cat, he seemed to be unsettled about what he was seeing. His face was set into a serious frown, an expression that seemed to be rather foreign to his features if the laughter lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth were any indication.

The cat gave a sound between a snarl and a nervous growl and he reached out, placing a gentle hand on top of the big, white head, stroking the soft fur soothingly. Tense muscles relaxed for a moment and the feline leaned briefly into the caress, visibly quieting under his touch, eliciting a soft smile from the man and an affectionate, deep rumble in the cat's throat.

"It's not our fight."

For a moment the cat stood still, watching silently, but then the ears pricked up again and its gaze was drawn back to the remote scene. Again the soft voice sounded, causing the furry ears to flick nervously as it listened to the softly spoken words.

"They are strong, they can do this."

They stood in the dark alley for another indefinite amount of time until suddenly the young man started and tensed, cocking his head to the side as he listened into the night. The tiger froze in its steps and bared its fangs at the other end of the road, its long tail trembling slightly as it fought against its instincts and remained on the spot, leaning heavily into the young man's legs, as if that contact was the only thing that was keeping it back.

A quiet gasp. "Oh no…"

The tiger's eyes sought out the young man's troubled gaze immediately and even before he gave a small nod the white body was already moving, darting down the road at breakneck speed, pent-up anxiety catapulting it through the dark alley towards its goal. The man watched it for a moment, gave a small sigh and melted into the shadows next to him, leaving an empty side street behind.

**** *** ** *


	2. Chapter 2

***** **** *** ** *

Dean Winchester was pissed.

Well, actually he was way beyond pissed, but as he was pretty positive that even the _Dictionary of _frigging_ Contemporary English_ would have a hard time coming up with a satisfactory substitute to describe how he was feeling, at the moment there was only one option he could go with and that was _pissed_.

Fifteen years of hunting supernatural creatures and you would think he had seen it all or that he would at least not be that surprised if something out of the ordinary happened. Demons who stepped over a salt-line without so much as a wince? Rare, but not unheard of. Spirits that didn't mind having iron fire-pokers waved in front of them? Yeah, he had met one or two of them, as well as the occasional werewolf who couldn't care less about the lunar cycle and would shift its form whenever he wanted.

But this? Provided that they got out of this in one piece he would most definitely be adding a side note to the entry about ghosts in their father's journal.

"Look out!"

Sam's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he ducked instinctively, barely avoiding a blow to his head with the metal end of _their_ shovel. He got a glimpse at their latest opponent before the incorporeal apparition flickered and then disappeared. _With_ the shovel. Again.

_Sunova..._

Dean growled under his breath. Hunting down this particular pain in the ass had been as uneventful as research ever got, by the time Sam had figured out it had to be good ol' Jonathan who was bashing people's heads in whenever they got too close to the old farmhouse Dean had been ready to go stir crazy. He had been climbing the walls of their admittedly not-so-rundown motel room for a whole day by then. Not even Sam's heartfelt threat that he would redecorate the interior of the Impala with pink pieces of cotton yarn if Dean didn't _keep it down_ _and relax_ had managed to calm him down.

And then Sam had started doing it again. Watching him. Giving him side glances, listening to everything he said and mulling over every word, in short; overanalyzing him until Dean felt the overwhelming need to throw punches... That was why he hadn't told him about it, why he had kept his mouth shut, why _caring and sharing_ was not something Dean Winchester did.

Or would do again. Ever.

It inevitably led to Sam trying to make it better when all he wanted was to forget about it. At least he wasn't giving him the beaten puppy dog treatment anymore, since Dean had returned from _there_ whenever Sam got depressed he grew distant, backing off as soon as he growled at him to leave him alone. Which, although way out of character for his brother, was just fine with him.

Dean turned to where his brother was standing next to the gravestone, watching their surroundings, gun at the ready.

"Any great ideas?" he growled at him, venting some of the anger he felt for letting Casper sneak up on him in the first place into his words.

Sam merely raised a mocking eyebrow and cocked his head slightly, as if he actually thought about that, then grinned, shrugging. "You could always keep on digging with your hands..."

"Smartass." Dean turned back to where he had last seen the ghost, eyeing the grave thoughtfully. "I'm getting the spare one from the trunk, you keep watching."

He turned in the direction they had parked the car and was about to take a step when Sam's voice once again sent him to his knees. "Behind you!"

A shot ripped through the air but didn't hit anything, out of the corner of his eyes he could see the spirit dissolve into thin air so quickly he wasn't even sure it had been there at all.

"Sunova_bitch_, why is he moving so fast?" he ground out, getting back to his feet.

Truth be told, he didn't really mind the complications at all, things had been way too quiet and uneventful on the last hunts. He needed this, the excitement, the moment when reality forced all those painful memories about the pit from his mind and kept his attention on the here and now. There was just too much silence these days, between him and Sam, inside his head, whenever he closed his eyes to get some sleep… This was what he was good at, what he was living for lately, the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him dizzy and allowing him to feel so alive that, for those few, rare moments, he could pretend he really was back from the dead... _Stop it._

Sam would bitch about having to spend another night on the backseat of the car once this job was done but, frankly, he didn't really care, Sam would get over it. He'd already found them the next gig and if he drove for the better part of what was left of this night they would be able to make it there in less than---

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut through his thoughts and pulled him out of his musings. His brother's smirk had turned into a worried frown and he was watching the shadows behind Dean intently, opening his mouth to say something. "Dean, there's—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by Dean's warning shout when the air behind Sam seemed to flicker for a moment and the ghost appeared right next to his brother. "Sam, DOWN!"

Sam reacted instantly, stumbling forward and ducking his head, trying to twist his body to the side to get out of harm's way.

He wasn't fast enough.

The business end of the shovel crashed into the back of his head with a sickening sound, the force of the blow propelling him forward for another step as he tried desperately to keep his balance. Before Dean could do anything to stop the attack the shovel descended a second time, catching his reeling brother on the side of his head and knocking him forcefully into the gravestone where Sam went down without so much as a sound, crumbling to the ground in an un-moving heap.

"HEY!"

Heart racing, Dean was up and running toward Sam before he even realized he was moving. The ghost looked over at him, the shovel already raised for another attack, then suddenly blinked out of sight. The discarded shovel clattered to the ground with a metallic sound.

Dean skidded to a halt next to his fallen brother and picked up the gun Sam had dropped, watching their surroundings for any signs of the ghost. Nothing moved, apart from his own slightly ragged breathing there was no sound to be heard. While keeping a weary eye out for further attacks he knelt next to his silent brother, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder as he tried to get a look at his head. Sam didn't offer any resistance, his body rolled limply toward him as he pulled and propped him up against his legs. He couldn't make out any details in the dim light but as his fingers ghosted carefully across his brother's skull he found a lump at the back of Sam's head which had him wincing in sympathy. It was bleeding sluggishly, matting Sam's hair with blood and he dug inside his pockets for something to cover the wound with.

"Come on, Sam, I need you up and awake..." he mumbled softly and slowly turned Sam's head toward him, tapping lightly at his cheeks. "Sam? Sam, wake up!"

Sam's brow furrowed slightly and his eyes rolled beneath his lids.

"Come on, Sam, wake up."

A weak groan could be heard and Sam's eyelids fluttered, then slowly slid open. "D'n?" His voice was barely a whisper and his eyes scrunched up as soon as he had forced the word out, hissing in pain. "H'tssss..."

Casting another weary glance around the cemetery Dean allowed his groggy brother a few seconds of rest before he spoke. "Sam, open your eyes, you have to get up, we have to get you to the car."

"Caa---?" One eye slid open for a moment, blinking dazedly at him, before it shut again, followed by a miserable whimper. "Wa' h'pnd?"

Dean sighed softly. "You took a nasty hit to the head, knocked you out for a moment. Come on, we have to finish this so we can leave, think you can move?"

Slowly, very slowly Sam forced his eyes open, blinked repeatedly and peered up at him. There wasn't enough light to check his eyes properly but as far as Dean could tell he seemed at least to be able to track movement properly. Which seemed to be the only thing he was willing to do at the moment. So no car then, at least not before he had taken care of their little shovel-wielding-problem.

Dean ran a hand over his hair and eyed the grave for a moment. Chances were that the ghost would reappear the minute he started to dig so he had to make sure his brother was safe first. And since he definitely needed some room to manoeuvre he had to move him.

"Sam? Think you can get up?"

Sam met his questioning gaze and seemed to think about that, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, 'hm okay..."

Translation: 'I'm not sure if I can even sit up without fainting.' Dean couldn't really suppress the weary grin creeping across his lips, as much as everything had been changing between the two of them lately there were some things that apparently never changed and the infamous Winchester stubbornness seemed to be one of them. But still he needed to get Sam out of the way to finish the job so moving him was inevitable.

"Sam, you need to get up and walk a couple of steps over there, can you do that?"

Sam stared hard at him for a moment, then closed his eyes and nodded his head carefully, whispering softly, "Yeah, help me up..."

It took them a while before Sam was more or less upright and able to take some wobbly steps towards the wall. He was listing heavily to the side and if Dean had not leaned into him to keep him on his feet their short trip would have been over before it had even started. Sam held his breath when he lowered himself gingerly to the ground and sank back against the wall of a small crypt, closing his eyes as he tried to stop the world from spinning crazily about him. Dean made sure he would not be toppling over to the side before he jogged over to the grave to fetch their duffel bag. Since they were obviously dealing with a very violent and unpredictable spirit he had to do something to protect his brother while he was digging up the bones since he was in no condition to defend himself. Sam was watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he drew a salt-line on the ground around him.

"You gonna be okay here for a minute?"

Sam nodded carefully then winced, closing his eyes against what Dean suspected was a wave of dizziness. "'m fine."

"Yeah, I can see that…" Dean went back to the grave and started digging. He frowned when he found Sam searching through the duffel bag only moments later, squinting at things before discarding them to the ground. "Looking for something?"

It took a moment for Sam to realize that Dean had spoken to him and he squinted at him, then at the bag before he slurred tiredly, "'found som-thng... when you were..." He stopped, swallowed hard and then continued, "...just in case... in case he showssup... 'gain..."

Dean winced at the pain he could clearly hear in Sam's voice and picked up his pace slightly, keeping an eye on his brother. Sam finally pulled a book out of the duffel and started leafing through it though from how he kept squinting at the pages Dean didn't think his brother could make out anything at all. "Wanna read him a bedtime-story?" he grinned, but the joke was completely lost on Sam who merely nodded slightly and kept searching.

"Jeez, you're no fun when you're hurt..." Dean grumbled softly under his breath and directed his attention back to the grave. The next minutes were spent in silence, he occasionally cast a glance back at his brother but Sam didn't move much at all, once he had found the page he had been looking for, or, as Dean suspected, couldn't remember what he had been looking for in the first place, he leaned his head back gingerly against the wall behind him and watched Dean through half-closed eyes.

"You okay there, Sam?" he called quietly, halfway through the grave a few minutes later, when he noticed Sam's eyes were slowly drifting closed. The younger man started slightly at the sound of his voice and his eyes snapped open again as he blinked sleepily. His gaze finally came to rest on Dean's face and he looked at him for a long moment without saying a word. And when he finally opened his mouth Dean almost wished he had stayed silent.

"…didn' hunt ghosts…. when you were…" Again he swallowed hard before he continued, his gaze dropping to the tombstone the ghost had smashed him against. "…didn' wanna havta dig… you--- _them_ up…"

Dean's breath caught in his throat at the sudden image of Sam digging up his grave and he closed his eyes against the unexpected onslaught of feelings that literally had him choking for a moment.

Sam fell silent, staring off into the distance, a far-away look clouding his tired features.

It was always at times like this, when he was hurting or sick, that Sam's grip on his emotions slipped and something broke out, usually hitting him where it hurt most. This was not the time nor the right place to be thinking about _that_, not when he had a probably concussed brother and some violent spirit to worry about. Later, when---

The hair at the back of his neck prickled.

In the split second between the sudden re-appearance of the ghost right next to him and the realisation that, once again he had let his guard down and he would be overpowered for the second time in one night Dean had a moment to make the decision that at least this time he would _not_ lose that damned shovel.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the ghost didn't really need it to make matters complicated.

"Dean!"

He was still reeling from a nasty blow to the head that had taken his attention off the grave and redirected it to the part of his head which was suddenly screaming at him in pain, when his brother's shocked outcry finally broke through the weird kind of white-noise-sound that was currently supposed to be his hearing. He got a glimpse of a vaguely Sam-shaped shadow floating somewhere to his right before something heavy slammed into his chest and he felt himself become weightless for a moment.

The impact with what he assumed was one of the many trees took away what little breath he had managed to keep during the first attack and his vision whitened out for a moment. Everything became kind of fuzzy, the sound of laughter started mixing with what sounded suspiciously like a threat which finally blended with the buzzing in his ears. He knew he should be alert, that there was something happening he should keep his eyes on, but somehow reality kept eluding his senses, leaving him drifting somewhere between a black void and some jumbled sensory input.

Until Sam's pain-filled, panicked voice cut through the haze and kick-started his sluggish brain back into action.

"No, Dean!"

He forced his eyes open, blinking heavily, trying to make sense of the blurred shapes dancing in front of him. There were two of them in his line of sight, coming at him or going away from him, he honestly couldn't tell. He took a wobbly step in the direction from where he had heard his brother cry out for him. Or at least he hoped it was that direction. His vision cleared a little after the third step and he was able to make out a little more than just shapes.

Sam was upright and leaning heavily against the crypt's wall, his right arm wrapped tightly around his middle, holding the book in his left hand. His posture was stiff, rigid, eyes scrunched almost shut, and yet his gaze was fixed unwaveringly on one of the pages as he recited some Latin verse Dean couldn't identify. He didn't need to hear the trembling in Sam's voice nor the hitching rasps for air in between words to understand that his brother was just barely clinging to consciousness and wouldn't be able to remain on his feet for much longer.

As if reading his thoughts Sam's gaze flickered towards him the next moment and he squared his shoulders slightly, determination creeping into his voice as he put more emphasis on the words he was reading. Dean still had a hard time following the events around him, but he didn't miss the angry hiss from somewhere in front of his brother and slightly off to his right when Sam mumbled the end of his incantation, ancient words which his tired mind picked up and translated into English.

"... and by those words thou art bound to my will!"

Dean failed to notice what the exact effect of the spell was when Sam almost instantly slumped further against the wall as soon as the last word had left his mouth. He was groaning low in his throat and the book dropped from his shaking hand as he reached up to steady himself against the wall.

"Sam? You okay?" Moving still seemed to be a task his body was not very willing to accomplish but Dean swayed toward his brother nevertheless, cursing silently at the world in general when it didn't play fair and the ground kept moving beneath his feet.

Sam didn't move his head, just closed his eyes. "Jus'… peachy…" he ground out, swallowing thickly and looking as if he was going to be sick. "You?"

Dean took another step towards his brother, frowning when a quick glance at the spirit found the transparent being hovering nearby, empty, dead eyes fixed on Sam's hunched form. It looked as if it was going to fling itself at his brother any second and yet it didn't move from the spot. Dean noticed a faint glowing at its feet. His attention snapped back to his brother when Sam moved slightly against the wall. "D'n?"

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm okay," he hurried to reassure him, grinning to himself when he couldn't quite hold back the next words. "You know me, like a cat, I always land on all fours."

Sam frowned for a second then actually snorted slightly at that. "Sure sounded… like som'ne stepped on yo' tail..."

Dean didn't know if he should be angry or relieved that his brother was still able to crack jokes when he was barely keeping upright. He settled for worried and kept an eye on the hissing ghost as he slowly limped over to his brother. '_Keep him talking, don't let him pass out'_ the small voice at the back of his head managed to whisper over the rushing in his ears. "Hey, Sam, what was that spell?"

Dean managed a few wobbly steps before Sam answered. "Binding spell… keeps 'm bound… long 'nuf… to dig…" He started to sway, giving another distressed groan.

"You gotta teach me that…"

Sam closed his eyes, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Dude… 25 lines… Latin…" With that he pitched forward, crumbling to the ground with a low moan.

And that was exactly the moment when everything went from 'almost good again' to 'impossibly fucked up' in an instant; for the second time that night Dean felt something slam into his chest, hard, propelling his flailing body across the graveyard. All breath left his lungs upon impact with something solid and this time his vision didn't just white out, it took him down with it when his world tilted and swam out of focus, taking all sound, vision, and feeling with it.

The last thing he heard was Sam gasping his name and then everything went silent.

Blackout.

***** **** *** ** *


	3. Chapter 3

Once again THANKS A LOT to **AnickaMarie** for the beta on this! =)

***** **** *** ** *

As usual, consciousness returned slowly. It started with a vague sense of floating, as if for a moment gravity had forgotten it was supposed to hold the universe together and had decided to let him drift all over the place. He didn't like it, there was no way to tell where was up and how to come down or if he even wanted to come down at all.

Sounds drifted toward him, distorted echoes begging for his attention, but nothing seemed to be important or familiar enough to him to focus on for long. He felt like he was going through a filing cabinet, leafing through different sounds until he would find the one he was searching for, anything at all that would tell him his brother was still alive and preferably kicking whatever had attacked him.

He frowned.

His bro--- _Sam!_

His eyes flew open and he blinked repeatedly to get the blurry world around him back into focus. It didn't work, all he could make out were dark shapes against a bright background, followed by the realization that his back was hurting like a bitch and moving his head seemed to be out of the question if he wanted to stay conscious. A soft groan escaped his lips when his back cramped up at him and he squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing against the throbbing pain.

A thousand questions shot through his mind, none of which he had the answer for, he didn't know where he was, he couldn't remember what had happened or why he couldn't think straight, he had absolutely no idea about anything at all...

Until a soft sound suddenly grabbed his attention, a familiar groan that had him snapping up his head and then cursing against the stab of pain that sliced through his head only a second later. He knew that voice.

Sam.

Sam was here.

Sam was here and he was in pain.

Rusty instincts kicked in and he forced his eyes open. The view hadn't changed much, he was still seeing blurry shapes but the longer he stared the more his vision started to clear though the world would not stop spinning around him.

Sam was once again leaning against the crypt, more or less upright and swaying on his feet. Dean gasped at how his posture had changed, the arm he had held across his middle before was now raised toward his head, the heel of his shaking hand digging into his right temple, his eyes screwed shut tightly. The other hand was raised in mid-air, palm facing away from him in the classic 'stop right there'- position, trembling almost as hard as the rest of him. Sam's breath was coming in short, strained gasps and even as he watched he swayed on his feet and gave another weak, desperate moan.

Dean didn't want to take his eyes off his struggling brother to see what exactly he was doing and yet he couldn't stop himself from following Sam's outstretched arm toward the other side of the graveyard, about 15 feet away from him.

"Holy crap, SAM!!"

Although he knew it was probably a fatal mistake he couldn't stop himself from gasping out in shock at the sight of three dark shapes closing in on his weakening brother. Even though his vision was still off he could clearly see completely black eyes gleaming in the moonlight, eyes which were focused on Sam's body, studying him like some freaking beast of prey, looking for a weak spot, an opening where they could jump in for the kill.

At the sound of his voice though they stopped in unison, two of them turning their heads in his direction. Sam's concentration wavered as well and his head whipped around to face him, face pale and drawn, eyes wide and desperate, hands falling limply to his side. He looked ready to pass out, body and mind pushed way beyond their limits.

"Dean..."

His voice was no more than an exhausted whisper and Dean's heart lurched into his throat when he realized that he had just provided the distraction the attackers had been waiting for. He cursed himself and made to move forward, to rush to Sam's side, hoping against hope to be fast enough to reach him before the demons did.

It took him a long moment to realize that he wasn't moving.

His panicked gaze snapped from his brother's hunched form to his own body, eyes widening when he finally became aware of the fact that he was floating about two feet over the ground, his aching back pressed firmly against a tree. _What the---_

Movement in front of him had his head jerk up against his better judgement and he groaned at the stabbing pain that tore through his skull. He fought hard to clear his vision, he had to free himself, to get to his brother, help him before those bastards could reach him.

"Sam!"

Dammit, his voice was so weak he could barely hear himself cry out. Slowly two shapes came back into focus and his eyes immediately went to them as he was forced to watch helplessly how they advanced on Sam, moving at a greater speed now that his power wasn't holding them back anymore.

"Dean, NO!"

Sam's desperate voice brought his attention back to him and he froze, trying to process what his eyes were telling him. He didn't know how but his brother had got back to his feet and as he watched Sam's hands flew up into the air, pointing at something across the graveyard, next to _him!_ Another jerk of his head, another sharp pain lancing through his skull and Dean was suddenly staring into two narrowed, black eyes which were shining with a malicious, almost feral gleam. He would have flinched back if he had been able to move, but as he was still held immobile against that damned tree, there was nothing he could do but watch how the demon got closer.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Sam's voice was no longer tired or soft as it echoed through the graveyard, in fact the sharp commanding bark sounded so unlike his brother that it might as well have come from their father. Dean couldn't stop himself from jerking back from it, trying, for a moment, to take a step back and retreat.

The demon stopped in his tracks, frozen only a few inches away from his victim, growling low in his throat. Dean stared at the forty-something year old man with wide eyes, some distracted part of his brain noting that he was wearing a biker outfit and holding a knife in his right hand. A knife whose tip was hovering just above the left side of his own ribcage.

He had a brief second to wonder if it would send him back to Hell just like Ruby's might have been able to or simply cut him open before the demon threw his head back and opened its mouth in an angry scream. Black smoke poured out of the shaking body, swirling high into the air where it danced around erratically. For just a moment it almost seemed as if the smoke had found a new host, Dean felt something dark, eerily familiar brush against his temple and he tensed, trying to twist away from the dark mass. Then the smoke was grabbed by an invisible force and pushed down, toward the ground where it twisted for a moment and then disappeared.

The knife clattered harmlessly to the ground right next to the limp body of the ex-host.

A weak groan tore Dean's gaze from the weapon back towards his brother and he tensed when he was forced to watch how Sam's knees buckled and his body finally decided that enough was enough and he sank down towards the pavement where he blinked dizzily at the remaining demons. All tension had left him and he was swaying heavily even while sitting down, listing toward one side.

"Sam!"

Exhausted eyes met his, blinking slowly, a faint, rueful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "'m sorry..." he whispered softly, reaching out to steady himself.

_Dammit, Sam, get up!_ Dean's panicked gaze flickered towards the demons. They had stopped their advance and were eyeing the fallen hunter warily, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. Dean growled low in his throat, straining uselessly against the invisible force that was crushing him against the tree.

This was not happening, he was not losing his brother to some piss poor demons who didn't even know who they were dealing with, and did every friggin' black-eye know how to pull this stunt and force him to do some poor imitation of a helpless animal pinned down into a showcase?! And by the looks of it they didn't even have to concentrate to keep him there, neither of them showed any signs of using any power at all, if anything they were looking rather confused and unfocused at the moment, both of them simply staring down at Sam.

Which was... odd.

And wrong. Very, very wrong.

It was the first sign he noticed that something had changed, again, that the situation had taken yet another turn. It was just a weird feeling at first, a persistent whisper at the back of his mind, some part of his brain stumbling clumsily over dormant memories from a time he would rather have buried so deep inside of him that they would never wake. Something was lurking in the shadows of his mind, teasing him with blurred images, memories which didn't make much sense.

At first.

But then...

_Oh no, nononononono..._

How could he have been so blind, how could he have missed this?

"Sam, get up, you've got to get out of here!"

He couldn't quite hide the panic that was creeping into his voice, but if Sam was aware of it he didn't show it, he just blinked at him, dazedly, then frowned and shook his head slightly as if to clear it, eyeing the demons who were still hovering a few feet away from him. They were already too close to him and Dean racked his brain, trying to come up with a distraction that would get them away from Sam.

"'m not leaving you here..."

Sam's tired voice seemed to shake the demons out of their musings, before Dean could do anything they were once again moving towards their target, slowly, deliberately, as if they had all the time in the world.

"No, leave him alone!"

Much to his surprise the demons stopped moving again, eyes still trained on his brother, watching him.

He frowned. Something was wrong.

"My, my, Dean, I honestly didn't think we'd meet again so soon."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, dark, low, threatening. He had never heard it before and yet there was a certain quality to it which turned the blood in his veins to ice, literally freezing him to the spot. This couldn't be, it was impossible.

_Right?_

"Don't these... circumstances... remind you of something? You, helpless... completely at my mercy... how was it again, flat on your back if I remember correctly..."

For just a moment reality shifted, he was back in another time, another place, feeling just as helpless and scared. Terrified. All the noises were back, the screaming, the clanking of chains, moans of pain and the air, oh God, the air, too hot, too thick, too dry to breathe, it was making him dizzy, his head swimming, vision blurring in and out of focus and please, no, he couldn't do this again, not now, not ever, _please don't let him do that to me again, please..._

And he knew.

"Alastair..." He forced the name out, almost choking on the memories it invoked.

_Get out, get away. Now!_

"Aaaah, you haven't forgotten." The voice drifted closer. "You know, Dean, I am disappointed in you..."

A shape appeared in his line of blurry sight, moving towards him slowly, casually. He fought to get it into focus and yet, at the same time, found himself praying silently that he wouldn't have to see that face ever again. And thank God for small favours, the features which finally did come into view looked nothing like it, instead he saw a young man, just some ordinary guy with dark hair, casual clothes and a somewhat odd, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The only familiar thing about him were the eyes, pale, white orbs fixing him with an amused glare, taking in the way he was squirming uselessly against the invisible bonds that were still keeping him floating above the ground.

When the demon spoke, though, all traces of amusement left his borrowed eyes and his voice became a dangerous growl, once more stilling Dean's movements.

"All the time I spent with you, getting you to appreciate your... destiny, the training that was put into you, to hone your skills, to make you perfect for what you were always meant for... Did you really think I would let you go that easily?"

The man-- _Alastair _stepped closer and shook his head at him like you would at some disobedient pup which still hadn't been housebroken yet and was just about to be punished for making a mess in the living-room. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, willing the metaphor away, no way he was going through this again...

"Get away from him!"

An angry voice echoed across the small alley, pulling Dean's thoughts completely back into the present, to his situation.

_Sam?_

Alastair had turned and was eyeing his brother with a mildly interested frown. Sam was still down on the ground, but as they watched he leaned back against the wall which he used to once again get to shaky feet. What his body might lack in strength to keep himself upright was put into the murderous glare he directed at the man in front of Dean. The older hunter didn't know if Sam had realized just who exactly he was facing but somehow he doubted that it would make a difference, Sam was drawing the attention towards himself, trying to protect him, trying to get Alastair's attention... _Alastair_, for God's sake, not some weak, pathetic substitute but the real deal, the one demon who had already proven that he was immune to Sam's tricks.

_Sunova--_

Alastair had turned back to him and was studying him with a pensive frown.

"You know, Dean, maybe I should go and talk to Sam over there, about certain choices he could make, paths he could chose... He seems... more open toward certain possibilities, am I right?"

Before he could answer Alastair's eyes were back on Sam.

"Am I right?"

Sam swayed dangerously on his feet and reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall.

"Get away from him."

Though his body was giving in there was no hesitation, no weakness in his glare as he stared back.

Dean couldn't see the demon's face but the familiar chuckle in his voice drew him an unwanted picture of the leer which would be directed at his brother right now, how the dark eyes would gleam menacingly in what little light there was left.

"If that's what you wish, _Samuel._"

"No..."

Dean's voice was no more than a breathless whisper, barley audible over the pounding of his own frantic heartbeat and if Alastair had heard him he didn't react, he merely took one slow, deliberate step after another towards his brother.

Sam's gaze met his briefly and Dean, reading the wide eyes easily, swallowed hard.

Sam was terrified. For him. His brother knew exactly who that demon in front of him was and he would do anything to keep it away from Dean.

Which was just plain stupid. Not to mention suicidal. But most of all stupid.

He tried to hold Sam's eyes, tried to tell him that here, pinned against that damned tree with Hell's prime torturer only inches away from him he was safe, there was nothing Alastair could do to him he had not already done before. Which was just another example of how fucked up his life had become since he had crawled out of his own grave. He would have laughed about that if the naked fear he could see in his brother's eyes did not make him feel like he had just been punched in the stomach, choking him until there was no breath left to speak.

_Sam, don't…_

It scared the shit out of him, he knew exactly what Sam was going up against if he confronted Alastair, he knew what it meant to be at the centre of that demon's attention, how the sonuvabitch would try to break his brother, would use anything, any friggin' piece of information against him, twist his mind in any way he could. He had been there, dammit, had done that, had been sliced, carved, torn apart until there had been nothing left--- His breath caught in his throat and he continued to choke for a moment, fighting not to lose himself in that world of remembered misery, there was no time for it now, he had to...

_Sam..._

His eyes darted around wildly for a moment, searching the dark graveyard for his brother, blinking rapidly to bring him into focus. He realized Alastair was talking again, about six feet away from Sam he stood with his back to Dean, from what little he could make out of his outline he could tell that he had his arms crossed in front of his chest. Alastair moved and put himself between them, cutting off Dean's line of sight, blocking his view of his brother.

"Leave him alone!" he rasped out.

Or tried to, somehow the words got stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out, he couldn't get them past the clenched muscles of his jaw, it was almost as if something was forcing his mouth shut. It was Alastair, he knew it, could feel, all but taste the dark power that was caressing his face in an almost forgotten hold. The only sounds he had been allowed to make then had been groans of pain, wordless cries of agony and his eyes slid shut in fear of the new torment the sadistic master of his own private hell would undoubtedly inflict on him any minute now.

Alastair was messing with his head. Again. Was making him see things, playing out his worst fears in front of his eyes like some sick horror movie special. He could already feel the dark power dragging him under, flooding his mind with sights – sounds – smells from a time --- NO, he wouldn't go there, he couldn't do it, there was no way he'd ever...

"Stop it..."

Again he couldn't force out the words, no sound left his lips even as he fought desperately to move in the demonic hold. This couldn't be happening, he wasn't powerless anymore, he... he was back... out of Hell and back with Sam and... and that _angel_ had come to... to save him, pull him out and he w-wouldn't have to go back t-there, n-not ever... right?

_Right?!_

Reality was starting to slip away, sounds blending with smells, shapes collapsing into themselves only to rise again the next second, distorted, looming ominously over his helpless form. He was drowning in shadows with no way of fighting back, held immobile by the most threatening of them all. Everything around him became hazy, unfocused, unimportant... until there was only one thing left in the end.

Pain...

***** **** *** ** *


	4. Chapter 4

**Important:** This story was planned and partly written BEFORE we learned about Dean breaking the first seal in OTHOAP so my idea of what Dean's purpose in hell might have been is completely different than on the show. Just keep that in mind while you read.

To **ko-chan**: That's what I've been doing the last nights, working on your story! SURPRISE!!! ;)

Thanks a lot to **Twinchy** for her late-night-beta on this, sorry for keeping you awake so long!

***** **** *** ** *

It felt like someone had doused him with a bucket of freezing water; he couldn't breathe for a long, frightening moment, his body refused to do anything but hang limply in the air. He felt so weak he couldn't even open his eyes. His brain felt as if he had just been literally shocked into awareness by lightning and it was currently firing the residual energy through his limbs at random intervals, causing sore muscles to painfully cramp up on him. The vague knowledge that it was not the first time this… night?... he was waking up to the agonizing pain in his head slowly made itself known at the back of his mind and he groaned. Someone was obviously hating his guts enough to make him see stars.

All sense of self lost for a long moment, he focused his attention on getting as much information about his surroundings as possible, relying on the few distorted impressions he could make out amidst the jumbled sensations that were swirling crazily inside his mind. He was outside, that much he could say for sure. There was a soft breeze caressing his warm skin, both soothing and frightening at the same time. One by one, his senses crept back into his awareness, slowly, hesitantly. The smell of sulfur directly in front of him was so familiar, he didn't even notice it at first- but when his tired brain finally realized that it wasn't actually good news, he flinched back... or tried to, biting back an anxious whimper when his body didn't respond.

"Are you with us again?"

His eyes flew open and he found himself staring down into twin orbs of brilliant white.

From one instant to the other, his mind snapped back to the current situation, flashes of recent events racing through his head so fast he had trouble keeping up with them. The salt and burn gone bad followed by the attack of the demons, flying through the air, always flying, Sam looking up at him with exhaustion written all over his—

_SAM!_

"Ah, I see, you have finally decided to join us."

Alastair was staring at him through borrowed eyes, studying him closely. "I have been talking to Samuel while you were taking a break." He nodded his head at something behind him- but he was too close to Dean, blocking his line of sight completely, preventing him from seeing anything but the dark-haired host.

"I admit, he seems like a nice guy, very… outgoing, you know?"

Dean fought hard against the restraints, straining to hear or see something of his brother. It was no use, he couldn't even lift a finger, nor hear anything but his own desperate wheezing. It was Alastair again, doing what he had always done, what he was hellishly good at; controlling his victim's actions, his thoughts, his despair, playing with his fears.

And Alastair knew them, each and every one of them. He had been studying him for over thirty years. There was nothing he didn't know about Dean Winchester's personal aversions, no matter how small and insignificant they would seem to him.

He couldn't find enough strength to look up when Alastair continued.

"I can see it in your eyes, you want to know why I am here, why it took me so long to get back to you after you turned your back on me and everything we had planned for you." There was a pause and Alastair regarded him with a thoughtful expression.

"You see... after your... shall we call it 'departure', there was some intricacy inside my ranks. You were the cause of serious debates. Questions were asked. Disturbing questions. It took some time to get the... 'situation' under control."

Another pointed look.

"And then there was this rumour about a certain girl with certain... abilities. Imagine my surprise when I find her at the side of the very man who had just abandoned his troops. A rather... unsettling experience."

Alastair was watching him.

Dean's thoughts were racing, there was too much information, too important to miss and yet, his tired brain almost couldn't process what he was hearing. Everything he could think of was his brother whom he still couldn't see. He didn't know how long he had been out of it, he didn't know what Alastair might have done to him.

"It's really a shame that we didn't have enough time then, there are still some things we need to talk about... _obligations_... you have to meet."

Alastair's voice was serious and Dean's head finally snapped up to meet his eyes, a feeling of dread starting to crawl up his throat at those words. He searched the gaze that was scrutinizing him, wanting to shut himself off from it, to stop the demon from looking even deeper into his soul than he already had. But, as countless times before, he was unable to break contact, powerless to prevent it.

Alastair just smiled at Dean's feeble attempts to protect himself and crossed his arms in front of his chest, raising a mocking eyebrow, voice dropping lower with every word. "You know how they say? If you want something, let it go. If it comes back, it's yours."

Dean was pretty sure the saying didn't go like this, but that didn't matter; he knew exactly what Alastair was implying. Castiel might have pulled him from hell and restored his original body and soul, yet that didn't mean he was relieved from "certain obligations". Hell just didn't work like that. A deal was a deal and you didn't get out of it that easily.

Alastair read the realisation in his eyes as effortlessly as he did everything else, and a small, triumphant smile touched his lips as he leaned forward and whispered, "You, of all people, should know me better than that, Dean. When have I ever let go of something... some_one_... whom I really, _really_ wanted at my side?"

"No... I can't... Sam..." It was barely a whisper, he wasn't even sure he had said it out loud at all.

Alastair looked at him, drew his eyebrows together as if lost in thought and then continued with a fake smile, "You know, you are right. Let's see what _Sam_ has to say about this..."

He held out his hand as if he was inviting Dean to take a look at something and stepped out of his sight. Dean's eyes immediately sought out his brother's form and he gasped in shock; Sam was kneeling in front of the wall, his head bent so low that Dean couldn't see anything but shadows beneath the tousled bangs. Even from where he was hanging, he could see that Sam's body was still trembling, but other than the slow rise and fall of his chest, he wasn't moving. It seemed as if he was studying his hands which lay limply in his lap. Dean couldn't make out if he was even conscious at all. The two demons were standing a few feet away from him, both looking at something on the ground at Sam's knees, unmoving.

Although he couldn't see any wounds or injuries, Dean flinched inwardly at the way his brother looked so vulnerable and weak, and he wasn't able to hold back the curse which slipped past his lips even if he had wanted to.

"Son of a… what have you done to him?"

"Let's just say he overexerted himself trying to keep my... assistants away from him. He shouldn't have done that, considering he is sitting inside a salt-circle..." Dean's gaze briefly flickered towards the ground and there it was, a white line, a circle drawn around the very place Sam was kneeling in.

He allowed a small, relieved smile to play at the corners of his mouth, drawing some comfort from the knowledge that his brother wasn't in any imminent danger. For a few moments he could actually breathe much easier, and he relaxed slightly, almost forgetting his own precarious situation.

Until Alastair reappeared in his line of sight, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Dean couldn't hold his gaze, his eyes darted back towards his brother when he realized that a simple salt-line would not be an obstacle for every demon in this alley.

The smile was back on Alastair's face, and he took a slow step backward, closer to Sam, his eyes still trained on Dean, his voice a derisive chuckle at first. "At least one of you is showing some respect for me..." He paused for emphasis and grinned darkly before he added, "...down on his knees... looking up at me... just like you once did... not so long ago..."

He couldn't do this, couldn't go through this again. The threats, the overwhelming fear, the realisation that he couldn't get away, could neither help himself, nor his brother, he just couldn't do it. He had spent thirty years fighting against this demon, against his torture, the terror that had been part of his soul for so long. At least then it had only been himself and Alastair. Sam had been far, far away, lonely and hurting and grieving for his brother, he had been aware of that, but at least Sam had been safe, well out of Alastair's reach. Dean had never realized how much strength he had drawn out of this knowledge, how many of his actions in the pit had been based on the fact that Sam was safe from that monster, that it would not get to his brother, would not be able to get his claws inside of him.

And now that safety was gone, and his strength was bleeding away through that gaping hole of fear Alastair's presence was gnawing into his defences. All of a sudden he felt tired, so very tired he could barely hold his eyes open. Alastair being able to threaten Sam, to play his biggest fear against him and actually hurt him, was just too much. He couldn't do this, he knew he would panic at the slightest threat against his brother. He'd break down, cave in and give up, do whatever was asked of him, _as mindless and as obedient as an attack dog_...

He couldn't win this. It was hell all over again, he was trapped, caught in a situation that would only get worse, no matter what he did, whatever decision he made. There was no way out of this, no angel would show up and save his sorry ass. It was a no-win-situation, worse than anything they had been in so far. Despair crawled up inside his throat, choking him, robbing him of his last reserves of strength.

"What do you want?" His own voice sounded so weak that he didn't even recognize it. He felt disgusted with himself for a moment, everything inside his head was screaming at him to find something... _anything_ to get him—them— _Sam—_ out of Alastair's claws.

Alastair... a demon... the demon, a friggin' resident of hell, actually smirked. And Dean was so exhausted he couldn't make himself care… much. He just stared back at him numbly, not moving a muscle when Alastair leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"You. I want you, Dean. Back at my side, back where you belong. We had an agreement. You know what I need you to do."

His mind shied away from the memory, not having the strength to relive one of the worst moments of his life. Don't go there, don't you dare go there...

"No, I can't… Sam…" He couldn't stop himself from once again glancing at his brother's still frame. Alastair frowned and followed his gaze, white eyes wandering over Sam with an intensity that made the insides of Dean crawl with fear. The frown turned into a disapproving, disbelieving scowl.

"Come on, Dean, you can't be serious, you don't want to take back your rightful place at my side because of _him_?" He could literally feel the white eyes staring at him and he forced himself to drop his own to the ground, fighting against protesting muscles to give a jerky nod.

Alastair wasn't pleased, his cold voice turned downright icy and he leaned toward him, growling under his breath, "Listen to me—your brother—_Sammy_—is lost. Whatever value, whatever brotherly feeling might be left in that pathetic mind of yours is wasted on him." He paused for a moment. "Do you really believe this is the brother you sold your soul for?"

_How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure _Sam_?_

As intended—he knew that technique of torture too well— the words cut deep, right into the doubts that had started to form ever since he'd come back to find his little brother exorcising demons with his mind. He couldn't stop them, couldn't fight against Alastair's voice. He had never been able to shut him out of his mind and had stopped trying to a long time ago.

"He's lying to you already, isn't he? From what I hear he's… let's say _working_ with that bitch when he thinks you're not looking. Remember what the others told you, remember what _I_ told you? I told you he'd seek her out as soon as you were gone. I wasn't lying about that, Dean."

He felt his eyes drift close, wanted so much to press his hands against his ears to stop the words from battering his trust in Sam. Oh yes, he remembered how they had laughed at him, telling him over and over again how Sam was falling for Ruby, how weak he had become. How Azazel's blood was too strong in him.

"You gave him a second chance, Dean, you sold your _soul_ for him. He could have had _everything_ he ever wanted, that white-picket-fence life he had always dreamed of— and I know that was your dying wish, that was what you sold your soul for." Hot tears of pain and desperation welled up behind his tightly closed eyes, and he swallowed thickly, tried feebly to close himself off against that voice.

"You gave him the chance to live a normal life, and what did he do with that? He _betrayed_ you, Dean, ran away with a demon at the first chance he got. He didn't listen to you, he didn't trust your judgment, he never stopped for a moment to ask himself what _you_ would have wanted for him."

Alastair paused for a moment, studying him, again.

"Of course I could be lying about that, demons lie, that's what you're thinking right now, isn't it? Let me ask you something, Dean. Why would I lie about something like that if the truth hurts even more? And you know it's the truth, don't you?"

He knew what Alastair was doing, had been there more than once as his mast—the _demon_ had worked his magic on his victims. He had marvelled at how Alastair had always managed to break them, all of them, how he had found their weak spots over and over again, reducing them to helpless, weeping, desperate spirits without ever laying a finger on them. And then he would hand them over—

He was wrenched from his memories by a low whisper at his ear. "Aw, come on, Dean, what's with the tears? You're stronger than this, I know that."

It was working, he could feel the final layers of his defences crumble away, could feel the sharp claws of Alastair's power tear into the trust he felt for his brother, tainting it with doubt and disappointment.

"You're strong, Dean, one of my best men. I've seen you work, I know what you can do. Don't you miss that? The power? The purpose you had?" The white eyes were glowing in the darkness, pulling him in, slowly suffocating his resistance, his very will to fight against him.

Alastair's voice dropped to merely a whisper as he continued to mock him. "I didn't even have to give you demonic powers, you are a _natural_, Dean! All that training your Daddy put into you? Know the weak spot of a body, know how to take advantage of it? I bet you could even take out my meat-suit right now if you could only move, am I right?"

How he wanted to kill that son of a bitch, longed to wipe that sadistic smile off his face and shut his mouth forever. Back down in the pit, he had entertained himself with brutal fantasies of how he would take his revenge on Alastair, how he would destroy him once and for all.

Later he had realized some of those fantasies but it had not been Alastair who had screamed on the rack—

"Can you still hear them scream for you, Dean?"

He flinched violently, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories, against the voice that seemed to come at him from all sides and just would. Not. Shut. UP.

"You were the best, my most skilful pupil so far… And you can have that again, Dean. At my side. The power. You would be able to do something, make people see what it's like to have a purpose in life…"

_Just give in, give in to him__. Let him take you off that rack, it will all be over then, you know it. No worries, no pain, no fear. Just give in—_

"No…"

He could barely hear his voice, it was so weak, he wasn't even sure if he had said it out loud. Dean tried to shake his head for emphasis but his muscles wouldn't support him, he could only hang there, powerless. Helpless.

Weak.

A low growl from Alastair made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"How very… unfortunate…"

Dean was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Alastair snapping his fingers once. What he did notice only a moment later, was the familiar sound of the safety of his own gun being released, and he fought to open his eyes, straining to see the source of the sound. One of the demons was holding his Colt, pointing it at Sam's head.

Dean was too stunned to act or even feel anything when he took in the scene in front of him, but then Sam slowly lifted his head and squinted first at the gun, then at the demon, blinking a few times. He was obviously having some difficulty focusing, and when he finally looked over at Dean, the elder Winchester was shocked to see how exhausted his brother was.

"Sam..."

"You can't say I didn't give you a choice."

Another finger-snap.

Dean didn't have time to figure out what Alastair had meant by that before the demon pulled the trigger. His heart flew into his throat at the sound of the gunshot and he started, body surging forward, trying desperately to get free, to throw himself between the bullet and the most important person in his life. He shouted in frustration when his body wouldn't move an inch, and he couldn't get away from the tree, his terrified gaze never leaving his brother, as Sam startled at the shot and brought his hands up in a useless attempt to protect himself from the deadly projectile.

"No, SAM!"

***** **** *** ** *


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Okay, since _somebody _has been this total... insert curse-word of choice here last episode it was kind of hard to get into his head to write him as if he was still caring for his brother (dodges incoming missiles). But i tried. And for your information: Yes, I still love him although it gets increasingly difficult to do that.

Thanks a lot to **AnickaMarie** and **Twinchy **for cleaning up this mess and saving you guys from some pretty awkward phrases, the longest sentences you have ever seen and the overuse of certain words.

***** **** *** ** *

They say that in the moment of your death your whole life would flash right before your eyes. You would see every mistake you ever made, every person you ever met, every breath you ever took. Some _new age_ stuff like angels with fluffy white wings guiding you into the light, violins playing in the background. A sense of peace and serenity.

Dean knew for a fact that this was bullshit.

There had been no sappy movie in front of his eyes starring himself as the main actor and ticking off his life's great failures. No crappy music in the background, not even a disembodied voice telling him that everything would be okay. Nothing but the happy growling of that damned hellhound followed by the searing pain of sharp teeth, the terrified cries of his brother begging for his life. And the all-consuming agony as his body had been ripped to pieces.

And yet, when the shot rang out, when some no-name demon pulled the trigger of the gun that would end his brother's life right there in front of him, take Sam away from him -AGAIN- after all they had been through, all he could see was his little brother; Sam's face breaking into that big, teasing smile because of a stupid prank he had pulled on him, Sam dozing off in the car next to him with his body cramped into the little space like an over-sized pretzel, Sam reciting the exorcism that would free some innocent host of a nightmare, doing research, getting coffee first thing in the morning, wrinkling his nose at Dean's choice of food; alive, breathing, smiling, laughing...

Someone was laughing.

At him.

His brother had just been shot, had been ripped from his life, and somebody actually found that funny enough to laugh about it. Like this was just a joke... like his life had not just lost all meaning... again... like the world had not just stopped moving and would never be alright...

Something inside him snapped.

It hurt.

Pain he had experienced only once before shot through his head, his mind, his body. A crippling, soul-numbing, spirit-crushing agony leaving him hurting in places which had already been scraped raw during his stay in Hell, while he was away from everything he loved. Memories bubbled up inside him before he could stop himself. Visions of pain, anger, hurt and fear mixing with feelings of desperation, loss, loneliness, longing and relief that he was alive again. Disgust at himself for what he had done down there, shame for being weak enough to give in, putting his own needs above those of others, horror at enjoying the torture of countless souls. Fear of losing the one thing that would make all this bearable, the one person that could make everything right and would love him, need him, no matter what—

He couldn't hold his pain inside. For once in his life, Dean couldn't hold back, suck it up or hide the agony. This was way more than he could handle. He had been pushed to a point where he just couldn't take it anymore. A scream tore out of his throat, a desperate, gut-wrenching cry of misery, anger and _fear_.

"SAM!!!"

And then he was falling.

His knees hit something hard. He tipped forward and brought his hands up to keep himself from crashing face first into a puddle. Moisture crept through the fabric of his jeans, stinging across his grazed skin, drawing his attention towards his knees for a moment. He blinked a few times, finally becoming aware of the fact that he was no longer floating, no longer trapped against his will. His head shot up and he scanned the shadows around him, panting heavily.

"Dean, Dean, Dean... You disappoint me. Again."

The voice drifted through the darkness, mocking him. But he didn't listen, didn't care.

_Sammy..._

"Come on, Dean... Do you really think I would just kill such a promising, talented young man?"

He blinked hard, hearing the words but not really catching their meaning, too busy trying to breathe through the pain that was flashing through his body. Oh _God_, it hurt...

A soft, metallic clink in front of him drew his attention briefly and his gaze swept over something that was rolling across the gravel towards him. He stared at it dumbly.

A bullet?

"Dean..."

There was a whisper somewhere in front of him.

"Dean?"

Slightly louder now, more insistent.

"Dean, come on, man, look at me..."

The voice was louder now. It sounded nervous, strained and was trembling slightly… and so fucking familiar, it hurt even more.

"For God's sake, get a grip on yourself, Dean, this is humiliating..."

Another voice, close, _too_ close to him, mocking him.

And that one he would recognize even in his darkest nightmares because it would most likely be the very cause of them.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU SUNOVABITCH!"

Uh-oh, Sam was furious, full-blown protector-mode if he had ever seen or heard one. But who was he trying to defend? He'd better get up and help him...

But then, Sam was—he'd been… Why was it so hard to think?

"Pathetic, Dean… You should know better…" Alastair again.

He fought hard to open his eyes and even harder to see something with his blurry vision. Alastair was leering down at him, making sure to get eye-contact before giving him a disgusted scowl and turning to something behind him.

Dean's head was swirling, he couldn't really grab a thought at first, but one by one the pieces fell into place, painting a horrible picture.

Alastair.

Once again he had been played, had his fears toyed with until there had only been that all-consuming terror left. One of those annoying little mind-games Alastair was so infamous for. Sam wasn't dead, he was still—

— in danger.

Dean's head snapped up sharply and he blinked dizzily at the street in front of him. He could barely make out Alastair's shape as the demon strolled down the alley at a slow pace, shoulders relaxed, as if he was just taking a walk. Dean tried to peer through the blurry shapes in front of Alastair to get a glimpse at—

Sam.

His brother was leaning so heavily against the wall behind him for support, he looked like he was going to keel over any moment. He was shaking hard from what Dean guessed was the strain of staying upright and on his feet, his face a pained grimace, his breath a short, raspy gasp that could be heard even where Dean was lying several feet away. In the semi-darkness of his vision, he could see clearly just getting up had drained what little color he had seen earlier on Sam's face. His brother was running on autopilot, his eyes barely focused on the advancing threat, trying but failing to intimidate him with a furious glare.

Alastair didn't even blink.

"Get away from him…" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

Alastair was completely unfazed. "Mind your tongue, boy. Just because you're useful, doesn't mean I won't punish you for misbehavior..."

Punish... misbehavior...

While Dean was still pondering about what exactly was going on, Alastair lifted a hand, pointing it at Sam. One moment his brother was leaning against the wall, the next Sam gave a strangled yelp when he was suddenly picked up by an unseen force and thrown across the alley, heading face-first towards an opposite wall. Dean watched horrified how his brother brought his arms up over his head, trying to cover it before he hit the bricks.

And then Sam whimpered when his body abruptly stopped moving in mid-air, his trembling fingers only inches away from the wall.

"Enough of this."

The voice was so soft that Dean almost missed it, his eyes still fixed on his brother as Sam peeked out from beneath his arms, staring wide-eyed at the stones in front of him. And then at his feet when his body was slowly set down on the ground where he swayed heavily and steadied himself against the wall. He gave Dean a puzzled look, opening his mouth to say something but then the voice sounded again.

"Alastair."

The demon turned, gazing at something behind Dean. The older Winchester froze for a moment, sensing a presence that had not been there before, raising the hair on the back of his neck. Just when he thought that this couldn't get any weirder...

At this moment he had two options, turn his back on Sam and the two demons or, going against all his hunter's instincts, keep his back to God-knew-who. Allowing some unidentified threat to get behind your back, was almost worse than turning your back on two demonic pit bulls wearing human skins. Even if said pit bulls were currently eyeing his brother like some demon-chew-toy.

His gaze lingered on his brother for just a second; Sam was eyeing whoever had turned up over Dean's shoulder and he relaxed slightly. Taking his brother's attentive but definitely not alarmed stance as an indicator, whoever had arrived was apparently not threatening enough to put Sam into a fighting stance. His brother met his eyes briefly, reading the silent question in Dean's eyes correctly and shook his head slightly. No immediate threat there – good.

Trusting his brother to have his back, Dean took a few steps toward him, giving Alastair a wide berth as he inched closer to where Sam was still leaning against the very wall the demon had tried to crush him against. Alastair didn't seem to notice his movement, he was studying the newcomer with a displeased frown, tilting his head to the side, a false smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Andrew."

He didn't receive an answer – at least not one Dean could hear, but as he watched while still inching closer to Sam as inconspicuously as possible, the older Winchester saw the frown deepen, cringing inwardly when Alastair's face slowly morphed into a distinctly not-amused scowl. His voice held a not-so-underlying hiss of displeasure.

"And what brings you here, Andrew? As far as I know, this district does not fall into your... let's call it jurisdiction..."

'Andrew' was getting closer. Dean could hear his voice drifting nearer and saw the curious look on Sam's face as his eyes tracked the stranger's movements. Alastair on the other hand didn't look curious at all. The longer he watched his adversary, the more indignant he became. Which, in Dean's experience, was not a state of mind you would want to encourage in him.

The stranger didn't seem to care. His voice actually became even more friendly, maybe even playful when he continued. "I guess you could say it was... curiosity."

Alastair must have sensed Dean's movements then because his eyes suddenly flashed dangerously and his hand shot out, pointing at him. "Stay. Right there. I am not finished with you."

Dean froze, not daring to move an inch.

The demon, apparently satisfied with his obedience, turned his attention back to that 'Andrew'-guy.

"You know what they say... curiosity _killed_ the cat."

Dean flinched, swallowing against the sudden fear constricting his throat. He knew that tone and could easily read the underlying threat. Hell, anybody in their right mind could; don't mess with me, stay back, _leave_ if you know what's good for you.

Apparently 'Andrew' was not in his right mind.

"Funny you should say that..." The voice lost none of its lightheartedness and yet, there was a hint of seriousness creeping into it. But whatever Dean was going to say, do or think about this foolishness was completely lost, when something happened that instantly convinced him he had to be going crazy.

A low growl echoed through the alley. That in itself was not something he was unused to, but the big, white cat stalking out of the shadows a few feet behind his brother, unbelievably sharp teeth bared and gleaming in the moonlight, was not exactly an everyday-sight. His surprise must have registered on his face because Sam's eyes widened in alarm, and he wheeled around and then almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of the feline predator right there in front of him.

"Holy shit!"

His breathless words pretty much summed up the thoughts running through Dean's head.

That's when Sam's knees caught up with the rest of his shaking body and buckled. He went down for the second time that evening, his back hitting the wall behind him. That sudden movement had the cat's head snap around, and the feral gaze darted across the sprawled body, scanning him attentively.

And that gaze was the final straw.

Seeing his brother lying helpless on the ground in front of a wild animal, was more than he could tolerate. Dean didn't care about Alastair's threats, about his order to stay put, ignored the looming threat behind him. All that mattered right now was to get between those teeth and Sam. Dean sprinted across the alley as fast as his legs would carry him, closing the distance in a flash, moving his body protectively between the beast and his cowering brother. A low growl escaped his own lips before he could stop it.

To his surprise, the cat actually took a step back, tilting its big head to the side in what almost seemed to be a curious way. The furry ears twitched ever so slightly, and the tiger eyed him up and down as if looking for something. He stared right back although some voice at the back of his head reminding him to never stare into an animal's eyes; they would take that as a challenge and feel threatened by it. At this moment though Dean couldn't care less.

Whatever the cat saw in his eyes, apparently it wasn't feeling threatened or challenged by it. After a long moment, the skull was lifted a few inches and two cerulean eyes blinked at him before the big head nodded once in acknowledgment, and the cat turned away from them, its gaze immediately fixing on the two demons.

Trusting the tiger to have his back, he— _froze_.

What the hell?! Had that wild _animal_ just nodded at him? As in shown a _human_ reaction? Dean eyed the feline for a long moment but the cat had already turned its back on him and was slowly stalking toward the two possessed men. They didn't seem to be too happy about its approach and started to slowly back away from it. Dean wasn't sure what to think about it, but at least the tiger was moving away from them and no longer staring at Sam as if he was the main course at an all-you-can-eat buffet. The older Winchester let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding and glanced down at his feet where Sam was leaning heavily against his legs.

"You okay?"

He kept his voice low, relaxing only slightly when he felt a warm forehead press against the side of his right thigh, followed by a muffled, "No…"

"Head?"

A slight movement against his leg told him Sam had just nodded. His brother's voice was barely audible as he whispered, "It's killing me, Dean. Can't even see straight anymore… won't stop spinning—"

A weak groan, and Sam started gasping for air, obviously trying to fight off a wave of nausea. Definitely a concussion then. For Sam to admit that he was hurting in the middle of a 'situation', meant that he was barely holding on to consciousness. Which, considering said situation, was a problem because he couldn't count on him for backup. Which also meant that Dean couldn't move away from him without leaving him vulnerable to that damned cat.

And the demons.

Especially Alastair.

And let's not forget that Andrew-guy.

_We're so screwed…_

He tensed slightly and Sam gave a small sigh, swallowing heavily before mumbling softly into the jeans, "We're screwed, right?"

"Story of our lives, bro…" Dean straightened a little, gazing at the cat again, watching for a moment how the big feline kept herding the demons backwards, away from them. It was moving with all the grace of the predator it was, and he couldn't quite shake off the feeling of relief that, at least for the moment, the animal wasn't attacking them.

"Don't worry, we're gonna get out of here." He just had no idea how he was going to do that.

He felt Sam nod against his leg and was about to ask what had happened while he had been out of it, but Alastair chose that moment to speak up, his annoyed voice drifting toward them. "This is none of your business."

Dean couldn't stop his head from turning toward the angry demon, flinching, not only inwardly, at the fury in his voice. This was about as pissed as he had ever seen Alastair. Even Sam was alarmed at the aggressive growl. Dean felt the pressure against his leg disappear, and a quick glance at his brother found him squinting through the darkness, trying to get a look at what was happening at the other end of the alley.

And 'Andrew' proved, for the second time that evening that he was apparently not in his right mind. "I wouldn't be so sure..."

Dean got his first view at Alastair's adversary and was… surprised.

The kid couldn't be much older than twenty. Short hair, a white suit and about 6 feet tall, he looked more like a college kid than someone tough enough to tell Alastair where to stick it. He was standing next to the tree Dean had been pinned up against. What little he could make out from this guy's face, was set into a mixture of a determined expression and a very self-conscious, friendly smile.

Alastair had his back toward Dean so he couldn't see his face, but the tense posture told him everything he needed to know; Alastair was royally pissed. He had only seen him this agitated once before, and even then he had been beyond happy to know that the demon's wrath had not been directed at him.

And then Alastair was all relaxed again, inclining his head toward the side. "I didn't think Victor would be interested in them."

Andrew's smile never wavered and he approached slowly; carefully measured steps taking him closer into the street, into the light. Dean could tell that Alastair held the kid's complete attention, yet at some point, the older Winchester could feel a curious gaze wander over to them. Andrew's expression changed into a worried frown when his eyes swept over Sam's hunched form. Dean couldn't help it; he moved his body slightly, instinctively placing himself between his brother and the young man. There was something about him that he couldn't quite grasp, and although it was pretty clear that he wasn't exactly on Alastair's side, Dean wasn't one to jump to any conclusions. The enemy of their enemy mustn't always be their friend.

Andrew didn't seem to mind; his gaze went back toward Alastair, and he grinned slightly. "Then I guess there are a few things you don't know about him."

"Oh God—"

Sam's weak voice next to him had Dean's gaze snap to his brother at his feet in time to see him crumble forward, folding in on himself as he started retching.

"Shit, Sam…"

Keeping his attention partly on the men in the background, Dean knelt next to his brother, struggling to keep him upright as Sam's body convulsed, and he lost everything he had eaten earlier. Sam leaned heavily against him when he was finished, panting slightly. "—'s sucks—"

Dean chuckled humorlessly, helping him to move to the side a little. "Yeah, not exactly the best time to get your thick skull bashed in… Think you can move?"

Sam's head slowly rose halfway and his eyes fluttered open, blinking up at him blearily. "'m sorry… tired…"

Dizzy, throwing up and completely out of it. There was no question they were dealing with a serious concussion. He needed to get Sam out of there. Like yesterday. The younger man's eyes started to close and Dean leaned forward to prop him up against his side, tapping his cheek lightly with his fingers. "No, Sam, don't go to sleep. Keep your eyes open."

Sam was trying hard to comply but Dean could see he was losing consciousness rather quickly, slurring under his breath, "Wha's' happ'ning?"

"I don't know, seems to be some kind of pissing-contest about who gets to kick our asses…"

Dean scanned their surroundings, trying to remember where their stuff was. The Impala wasn't that far away. If he could only distract their 'buddies' for as long as it would take to make a run —shuffle— toward the car, they could make it. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to evaluate how things were going with the demon and the kid—

And froze.

Alastair was gone.

Before he even had a chance to comprehend what his eyes were telling him, there was an odd hissing sound and a sense of movement to his left. The last thing he could make out clearly was the friggin' cat getting ready to leap at him.

***** **** *** ** *


End file.
